The Web in Which We Lie In
by Arriva
Summary: Another case brings Nancy to London, but upon her arrival, she quickly finds that all is not what it seems. What starts as a simple robbery case rapidly escalates into a deadly game of cat and mouse surrounding a mystery that Nancy can't tackle alone. But how can she solve the case when the one person who can help her is supposed to be dead?


_Like many other prisons in America, Washington Correctional Facility shared the characteristic of not being a place for the proud or the arrogant. Any man who chose to ignore this characteristic was quick to learn just how easy it was to wear a man down. The men of Washington Correctional Facility walked solemnly down the halls with broken spirits, the only thing keeping them from complete desolation was the prospect of early release._

_Dwayne Powers, aka Prisoner No. 362, was not one of those men._

_Despite the fact that the years he'd spent in prison had taken their toll, the man still walked with an air of confidence. No amount of jeers from the inmates or offhand comments from the guards could jab a hole in the man's sense of delusional self-assurance. He wore his orange jumpsuit like a tuxedo, and relaxed in his cell as though it were a five-star suite. Nothing seemed to penetrate the criminal's annoyingly massive ego._

_Well, almost nothing. As Dwayne Powers walked back to his cell from the prison courtyard, there _was_ one corruptive, invasive little thought permeating his previously good mood. And to think he'd been having such a pleasant day too. Dwayne had been sitting at a bench, minding his own business and reading scraps of a week-old newspaper when he saw it. A small article, little more than stub really at the bottom of the international news section. The title was what had caught his attention._

_**Girl Detective Busts Italian Crime Ring**_

_Dwayne's right eye twitched in annoyance. A name he'd tried very hard to put in the back of his mind for the past three years popped up. Did he dare read on? Of course! A few lines of text couldn't possibly upset the great and talented Dwayne Powers! His grasp on the newspaper tightened as he read through the article. When he reached the end, Dwayne tore up the newspaper into tiny little pieces and tossed them into the air._

_How he yearned for the day when he would be free of these prison walls and finally able to take his revenge on the girl who ruined his life! A modern-day Count of Monte Cristo, that's what he would be. And she would play the part of Villefort. Oh yes, Dwayne Powers was a man of revenge, and the revenge he'd meticulously plan for Nancy Drew would be _perfect_. The thought of it made Dwayne giddy as a jewel thief after a successful heist._

_But for the moment, Dwayne was still stuck in prison. All because of _her_. By the time Dwayne reached his cell, his mood had taken a downward spiral for the worse. He doubted it would improve around his loathsome cellmate either. The rotten bastard, always crawling under his skin, ratting him out at any opportunity possible._

_On that day though, Dwayne approached his shared cell only to notice the profound lack of his other cellmate. He looked behind him to see if he was simply the first to reach their cell, but his cellmate was nowhere in sight. He turned back to the guard holding the barred door open for him._

"_Where's Richard?"_

"_Meeting his parole officer," Carlos, the guard, said. "He's getting an early release for good behavior."_

_Dwayne scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."_

"_Doesn't matter if you do or not," Carlos said. "_You've_ still got seven years at the rate you're going." With that, he closed Dwayne's cell door before Dwayne could punch him in the jaw._

_Dwayne sat on his cot, his fingers drumming incessantly on the lumpy mattress. He couldn't believe _Richard _of all the vile men in this place had managed to get parole. The thought only heightened his equally vile mood, filling him more with the desire to break out of the prison that so cruelly kept his fantasies of revenge from becoming reality._

_That night when Dwayne wasn't awake fuming about Richard's early release, his mind drifted towards the inevitable outcome of the loss of his cellmate. As much as Dwayne would have preferred solitary, he knew that was never going to happen. Probably so the guards could spite him just like everyone else in this rotten place._

_So _who _was to take lucky Richard's place?_

* * *

_The next morning, Dwayne woke to the sound of two pairs of footsteps headed toward his cell. Dwayne sat up in his cot and swung his legs over the left side of it. He sat intently, hands firmly planted on his knees, waiting to see just who his new cellmate was. He wanted to assert right from the beginning that he was _not_ a prisoner to be trifled with, just in case this new cellmate got any ideas._

_He did wonder though just what the new man would be like. Hopefully not like Richard. As the footsteps neared, Dwayne heard the man say something unintelligible to the guard and noticed his odd accent. Clearly not American, maybe... British? What was a _British_ man doing in an American prison?_

_The cell door opened, and Dwayne's eyes met with his new cellmate's._

___To his surprise, the man was... small. Not just in height but in every other part of his body. He had beady brown eyes, a lean figure akin to a fox, pasty skin, and... a smile? What could he possibly have to smile about? He looked scrawny, not the type that could last long in prison. But if there was anything Dwayne had learned in prison, it was how foolish it was to judge a person by their outward appearance._

_"This is Dwayne Powers, Mr. Brook. I'd highly recommend you two start getting cozy with each other." The guard closed the door, leaving Dwayne alone with his new cellmate. Dwayne gave the man a curt nod. The man smirked and sauntered over to the cot parallel to Dwayne's own. He hopped up onto it and reclined, stretching his arms and legs like a cat. As soon as he made himself comfortable, the man stared at the ceiling. Not knowing what to do, Dwayne just looked down at the floor._

"_Gum?"_

_"What?" he looked up and saw the man holding out a small stick of mint gum._

_"Because this is my last piece and if you're not going to eat it..."_

"_Sure…" Dwayne hesitantly grabbed the light green strip out of the man's outstretched hand and popped it into his mouth. The minty taste exploded with flavor on his tongue; it had to have been the first time since he'd been arrested to taste something so fresh. But that begged the question… "Where did you get this?"_

_The man didn't answer._

_For several minutes, neither man said anything. All Dwayne could bring himself to do was watch the man, trying to figure out what such a funny-looking man had done to land himself in jail. Was it murder? Arson? Kidnapping? Dwayne had slowly acquired the skill to get at least an idea of who had been convicted for what in prison but with this man? Nothing. But sometimes it took a little more prying to get answers out of prisoners._

_"So what are you here for?" Dwayne asked._

_"Because I want to be."_

_"What?"_

_"Because I want to be," the man repeated in the same tone a person would normally use to someone asking them if the sky was blue. "I've some business to conduct, and the only place I can get it done is here. Care to tell me why _you're _here?"_

"_I'll tell you why! Because of a nosy detective who couldn't keep her head out of places she wasn't supposed to be put me here!"_

_The man raised his head. "Detective, you say?"_

"_Nancy Drew," Dwayne said, the sheer act of saying her name stirring up seething rage inside him, "Do you know how close I was to getting away with murder until she entered the picture?"_

"_Let me guess, close? Pity you're stuck here," the man said. "And I can imagine you've spent all your days planning elaborate revenge on this detective, wasting away a plan to outsmart her once and for all, haven't you?"_

"_Of course I have!" Dwayne snapped._

"_Booooring."_

"_Yeah, well you're not the one doing 10 years time for it," Dwayne muttered. He crossed his arms and slumped against the wall behind his cot._

_"I could get you out, you know," the man said._

_"How?"_

_"Oh, I have my ways. After all, prison may be prison, but at the end of the day, it's just a series of walls, isn't it?" He traced his finger along the cement lining of the cell walls. "Just a foundation built on bribes and loopholes, waiting to collapse."_

_Dwayne eyed the odd little man suspiciously, trying to decide if his words could be trusted or not. After all, he'd just met him. If there was anything his time in prison had taught him, it was that there were some _truly_ crazy people behind the concrete walls and steel bars, and Dwayne had to stay far away from such delusional people. But something else he'd learned: it was good to have an ally, even a morally questionable one._

"_All right, if you could," Dwayne said skeptically, "what would you want from me?"_

"_What, you don't think I'd get you out on the goodness of my heart?" the man said in mockingly offended tone. "I'm disappointed!"_

"_I've been in prison too long to believe anyone just _helps _someone out of the… goodness of their heart," Dwayne said bitterly._

"Very _good. Now we can skip all the formalities!"he said just a little too gleefully. He sprung up from his cot and approached Dwayne. "Tell me, Dwayne-y. What would you do to get out of here?"_

"_Anything," Dwayne answered immediately._

"_Anything?" the short man loomed over the sitting Dwayne like a hawk toying with its prey. "Do you really mean that or are you just saying that to please me?"_

"_Of course not, why would I-"_

_Suddenly, the man grabbed Dwayne's chin. "Let me make one thing clear: I DON'T like people wasting my time. If you're lying, I can make sure you never see the outside world again. You will _rot _behind these walls if you're just wasting my time, do you understand that?"_

"_I do! I do!" Dwayne said. The man let go of his chin and slunk towards the cell door. Dwayne breathed heavily, eyes nervously fixated on the strangle little man. "I _promise_ I am not wasting your time."_

"_Goooood," the man's jovial demeanor returned almost instantaneously and he spun back around. "Well then, I can get you out. But I need the assurance that you'll do _me _a little favor after you're out of prison."_

"_What kind of favor?"_

"_Oh, just a teensy-weensy favor, you probably won't even have to do it for several years!" the man said. "But when the time comes, I need to know that you're committed to doing it."_

"_Okay," Dwayne said a tad reluctantly. "But why?"_

"_Let's just say I need reassurance. Just in case one of my plans falls apart and I need someone to pick up the pieces. Which is where you enter the web. So," he extended his hand, "do we have a deal or not?"_

_Dwayne stared at his hand. For the first time in years, the chance for freedom was literally inches away from him. And yet… he couldn't ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. There was something about this mysterious man that frightened him. _Nothing _frightened Dwayne Powers. At that moment though, he found it hard to resist the urge to run far, far away from this man. But was he really going to pass up freedom because of a mild sense of uneasiness?_

_Of course not._

"_Deal."_

_It would only be a small favor, right?_

_The two shook hands, but when Dwayne tried to let go, the man's grip tightened. He leaned in toward Dwayne and whispered in his ear, "Let me just say I can't _wait _to see you again."_

"_M-me too," Dwayne said. The man stroked his wrist before strolling back to his cot and lying back down. He closed his eyes, a blissful smile etched across his face. Meanwhile, Dwayne felt as though he'd just sold his soul instead of bargained for his freedom. _

_At that moment, there was only one more question tugging at the back of his mind._

_"What's your name again?"_

_"Moriarty," the man murmured. "Jim Moriarty."_

-some time later-

At the Narita International Airport, a young woman with titian blonde hair and an oversize purse sat on a bench in front of one of the many convenience stores lining the inside of Terminal B. While passengers were coming and going out of the terminal, she had a cell phone pressed to her ear.

"The flight's going to last about eleven hours," she explained to the person on the other end of the line, "Bess and George should get back before me since they left this morning. With the time difference between Chicago and Tokyo, I don't know how I'm going to get over the jet lag!"

"So you can handle vengeful ghosts at a Japanese ryokan, but jet lag is your ultimate weakness?" the other person said.

"I guess so!" she replied. "All I want now is a good night's sleep. You won't believe the story behind the hauntings, Ned. It's really... something."

"I can't wait to hear about it! We can talk about it when you get back, okay? Have a safe flight, Nancy!"

"Will do!" Nancy looked down at her watch. "All right, I'd better get going. See you in a few hours!" She pressed End on the call and placed her phone back in her purse then picked up her carry-on and strode toward Gate 14. She stopped in front of her gate and double checked her ticket to make sure she was at the right gate. Gate 14: Direct Flight to Chicago, 6:15 pm. Of course, Nancy was so out of the loop with her time zones, it could have been three in the morning and she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

The clock above the entrance read 5:37, a little under ten minutes until passengers could start boarding. Nancy stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes. It was like all the exhaustion of running around Tokyo and solving another mystery had suddenly hit her like a bullet train. Even Nancy's purse felt like a weight trying to pull her down. She set her purse and carry-on down beside one of the waiting benches and sunk into the faded black leather cushion. Probably not the most comfortable seat in the world, but heavenly to her.

Nancy leaned back into the bench, trying to keep her eyes open. Sleep crept towards her, but the worst thing she could do was sleep through boarding and be forced reschedule her flight. She sat up and straightened her back, looking around for any kind of newspaper that was actually in English. The airport carried several different national magazines and newspapers; Nancy wished she'd grabbed one before arriving at her gate.

It was only when Nancy looked over where one of the trash can's stood that she glimpsed an English-language paper hanging off the rim. All she could see from her distance was one of the titles printed in bold black letters.

_**Alleged Consulting Detective Kills Himself**_

Nancy's brows furrowed. Consulting detective? She'd never heard such a term. Perhaps it was similar to an amateur detective! Nancy got up and stuck her hand into the trash can, oblivious to the odd stares her fellow passengers were giving her. The week-old newspaper smelled of rotten fruit and coffee, but Nancy didn't mind. She sat down and eagerly unfolded the newspaper.

_The body of Internet-famous "consulting detective" Sherlock Holmes was found outside of St. Bartholomew's Hospital last Tuesday. Police reports are calling it a suicide, as the detective apparently jumped from the roof of the hospital at his own will. Before being exposed as a fake by journalist Kitty Riley, Holmes masqueraded as a-_

"All passengers for the 6:15 direct flight from Tokyo to Chicago flight may now begin boarding at this time. I repeat, all passengers for the 6:15 direct flight from Tokyo to Chicago may now being boarding at this time."

The flight attendant's voice pulled Nancy from the article. The other passengers on her flight began to gather at the entrance, and Nancy quickly gathered her own things before joining them. In her haste to leave though, she'd forgotten the newspaper. Only when she was seated did she realize it had slipped underneath the bench while she was bustling about.

As the plane took off and Nancy began to fall asleep, she regretted not bringing the article with her. Part of her had really wanted to find out the full story behind that "fake" detective. However, sleep tugged insistently at her, and soon she began to get lost in her own analytical mind, thinking of home, her friends, and most of all, whatever mystery lay ahead of her next.

And by the time the plane landed in Chicago, the mysterious consulting detective was near-forgotten.

* * *

In a sprawling graveyard in London, two solitary figures stood side by side. A man and a woman. Before them was an onyx gravestone, a dark contrast to all the other relatively old gravestones surrounding them. The woman held onto the man's arm, tears trickling down her wrinkled cheeks. The man stood still, too still, with a solemn yet vacant expression on his face. The two exchanged several words before the woman walked away, allowing the man a moment of privacy with the man buried beneath the ground he stood on.

Despite being alone, the man still stood stiff, shoulders tense and his mouth pressed into a pained frown. "You… you told me once that you weren't a hero," the man said, clearly struggling to find the right words to say. "um, there were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man and the most human… human being that I've ever known and no one will convince me that you told me a lie so… there."

"I was so alone and I owe you so much." The man turned and began to walk away from the gravestone. But suddenly, he stopped. He turned back around, traces of desperation and grief more visible on his face.

"There's just one more thing, one more thing- one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't… be… dead. Would you do- just for me, _stop it_. Stop this."

With those words, the final remnants of the man's formerly stoic composure finally crumbled. He put his head in his hand, trying to conceal the tears that he'd been holding back for several weeks, and racked out a few brief sobs. After allowing himself a few seconds of visible grief, the man reverted back to the wall he'd so precarious constructed since his friend's death. And with one final look at the gravestone, he walked out of the graveyard.

As the man walked away, another man stood in the distance. Shrouded by the mass of gravestones, he stood as still as one of the statues posed in the graveyard, with only his dishwater green eyes following the other man until he disappeared back into the throng of London traffic. Perhaps he had wanted to call out to the grieving man. Perhaps not. In the end, it didn't really matter what he wanted to do.

Because for whatever reason, all the man could do at that moment was turn up his trench collar and walk away.


End file.
